


Telling

by Dee_Laundry



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Don't Ask Don't Tell, Euclidian geometry, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-12
Updated: 2008-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is repealed, Sheppard’s response is not what McKay expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling

**Author's Note:**

> Deviates from canon after episode 4-12, “Spoils of War,” in terms of McKay’s relationship with Katie Brown. Many, many thanks to [](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/profile)[**elynittria**](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/) for SGA expertise, [](http://gate_house.livejournal.com/profile)[**gate_house**](http://gate_house.livejournal.com/) friends for support, and [](http://karaokegal.livejournal.com/profile)[**karakokegal**](http://karaokegal.livejournal.com/) for the strict out-of-fandom beta I needed.

Rodney learned about the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” from Katie Brown, of all people.

They were having lunch at a little table for two in the cafeteria. Turkey tetrazzini, which was OK, and a fruit from P8Z-211 that Katie herself had confirmed was not in any way related to citrus. It was shaped like kiwi but had the texture and almost the taste of bananas – quite delicious. Katie enjoyed dipping hers in milk but Rodney preferred his straight.

They were pleasant, these lunches that he and Katie would have every few weeks or so. She’d been upset when they broke up, but gracious about it, kind as always, and when he had made the fumbling, awkward offer to remain friends, she had taken him at his word.

Now they _were_ friends, with emails and lunches every few weeks and so forth, and it was nice. Rodney still wasn’t quite over his surprise on things turning out this way, because the other people he’d dated had afterward tended to recede back into the tide of humanity who didn’t get Rodney and found him, you know, abrasive. Arrogant, that sort of thing. He supposed maybe that meant he was good in the sack, that his prowess there compensated for his less than perfect skills in other areas of human interaction.

Probably that’s what it was.

In any case, with Katie it was different, and Rodney was glad. His team, that is, Sheppard’s team was great, of course, always something interesting to talk about – well, Ronon wasn’t much of a conversationalist but other than that – but it was good to have someone outside the team to spend time with, and learn how things were going in other parts of Atlantis.

Speaking of which, Rodney realized Katie had been talking for a few minutes, and he should probably pay attention.

“…behind on her work. I mean it’s cute, certainly it is, the way she’s so over the moon since Lieutenant Mackie asked her out, but we are getting behind. I just hope Connie settles down after they have their first date.”

“Connie is who again?”

“Oh, you’ve met her, Rodney.” Without a trace of admonishment – God, she was so nice – Katie continued gently, “She’s on my team. The vegetable specialist with the red hair.”

Yeah. The name Connie still sounded odd to his ears, but he knew who Katie meant. “Madam Carrot, OK, yes, and why does that bring up an association for me with Lieutenant Mackie? Vegetables – fruit – peaches, that’s it, Mackie was Miss Peach Flower Something or Other before she joined the Marines… oh my God, Mackie’s a woman.”

Katie smiled at him as she dipped another piece of fruit into her saucer. “Yes, Rodney.”

This did not compute. Sure, things were more flexible on Atlantis; Sheppard and Carter didn’t care about minor bending of minor rules, but this was… pretty big. “And in the military, so how can it be public knowledge that she’s asked out Madam Carrot? “

For the first time that day, Katie looked nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t it be public knowledge?”

Rodney gestured with his hands, kind of a rolling flap. Not that it would help, but he felt compelled to. “There’s that stupid American policy, the, um, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell thing.”

“You _have_ been busy with work in your lab, haven’t you?” Katie managed to look amused and concerned at the same time. How did she do that? “That was repealed a month ago.”

“A _what_?”

“Month ago? Is that your question, when?” She put down the piece of fruit in her hand and smiled sweetly at him. “Rodney, it’s OK. You’re busy with important things; nobody expects you to know everything that’s going on.”

“Could you excuse me a moment?” he said, or at least he hoped that was what he was saying, because he couldn’t quite hear over the cyclone booming in his head.

A month ago? Repealed? How did he not know? Well, he knew how he didn’t know, knew it down to his feet, which had taken him without conscious thought across the cafeteria.

“You never told me!” Rodney protested, a little loudly but not too bad, considering how noisy it was, and John looked up from his conversation with Ronon.

“Never told you what?” Sheppard was confused, eyebrows high, and annoyed, that twitch that he got that was almost a smirk but not quite. Rodney liked that twitch, usually, not the annoyance behind it but the way it made John’s face look, but today Rodney wasn’t having any of it.

He managed to spit out, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.”

“Well, do you want me to tell you or not?” John had one arm over the back of the empty chair next to him, and his hips were tilted just so, and the twitch was replaced by a genuine smile. “Make up your mind, McKay.”

John was such a damn flirt, and Rodney forgave him everything. Who cared about the when of it, now that they were free? Rodney smiled back at John, feeling the connection between them so strongly, and with a hand on the back of John’s chair, leaned down to kiss him.

Closing his eyes was only natural, but it led him to be immensely startled when the hand John settled over his heart pushed him away instead of pulling him closer.

“What the hell are you doing, McKay?” Rodney stumbled one step, still gripping the chair, and then straightened and pulled away. John’s – Sheppard’s smile was gone, and he looked… angry.

What in the world? They didn’t have to hide; they were free. “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed!”

“So?” Sheppard said, defiant, arms crossed, and Rodney didn’t get this, didn’t get it at all.

“So –”

He was startled again by the bark of a laugh coming from Sheppard’s mouth. “Oh, it’s a _joke_!” Sheppard said, way louder than the situation called for. “Good one, McKay!” As various people at the surrounding tables watched with amusement, Sheppard popped him on the arm and traded grins with Ronon. “Can you believe this guy? I never knew he had a practical joke like that in him.”

Astonished, Rodney couldn’t do much more than stare as he tried to slow down the wheel that was spinning madly inside his chest. Careening, really, and he had to go, now. _Now_.

“Yes, well, I –” He wasn’t saying anything, nothing that made sense at least, and Ronon was grinning and Sheppard was smirking, but _proudly_ like it was all wonderful, like Rodney bouncing off the force field John had around him was the best thing ever, like throwing his heart into the air and having it blasted into chunks was – “I have to go.”

He could hear Katie calling behind him, but she’d forgive him, she would, and John was laughing again, the sound waves sharp and jagged, stabbing Rodney as he fled.

The corridor was quiet and Rodney’s adrenaline-shock turned into something else, something colder and calmer.

 _An angle inscribed in a semi-circle is a right angle_ , he thought, and proved it. So easy. So soothing. Euclidean geometry – not exactly true, not in every circumstance, but simple. Clear-cut.

 _In the same or equal circles, arcs have the same ratio to one another as the central angles they subtend._

His feet took him forward while his mind strayed backward. Earlier days, he’d been so young, but to learn there were these things you could take and _prove_ they were true… Power, the boy he’d been had held it and tasted it, and would’ve thought _fuck the rest of the world_ if he’d known the word “fuck.”

 _If a straight line is tangent to a circle, then the radius drawn to the point of contact will be perpendicular to the tangent._

The door to his quarters looked especially bland today.

 _The center of a circle lies on the perpendicular bisector of any chord._

He had work to do, important work, and if he couldn’t figure out John, which it was apparent he couldn’t, then he could figure out something else that would be productive and helpful and probably save all their asses at some point. He sat in his desk chair and pulled his laptop to him.

The buzz in his ear distracted him from his work so he ignored it.

The second buzz was different somehow, more annoying, so he activated his comm and snapped, “What?”

“Rodney,” Zelenka said, “are you coming to the meeting? We want to start the project and you are twenty minutes overdue.”

“I’m working,” Rodney informed him. If he sounded haughty, it was just because important _work_ should never be interrupted for unimportant _meetings_.

“You insisted you should be here to provide the kick-up statement and, what did you say, rally the troops.”

“It’s ‘kick-off,’ not ‘kick-up,’ and I’m sure everyone is well rallied. I’m far too busy to attend.” He peered into his laptop screen. Unhappy with the words he saw there, Rodney backspaced furiously.

Zelenka’s voice hit that insistent frequency only one over from a whine. “But you –”

Rodney slammed a hand down on his desk. “I’m busy, Radek! Handle it!” He plucked the bud from his ear and threw it across the room. God, Zelenka could be so fucking annoying. Rodney didn’t have to be at the damn meeting. Everybody liked Zelenka better anyway.

He needed more reference materials, that was what he needed, and he clicked over to the securer part of the server – securer? more secure? – to dive into some of the less well catalogued sections of the Ancient database.

It was later when he cracked his back and looked up from the screen. Some time later, he didn’t know when; he wasn’t looking at the clock. The light was different, so it wasn’t near noon, for sure. A few breaths, a stretch of his lower vertebrae, and then he fixed his gaze on the laptop again.

He was in his room instead of the labs, true, but he was _working_ ; he wasn’t waiting. He wasn’t waiting at all, and so the knock at the door that was only ever Sheppard didn’t come as a relief.

“OK,” he said quietly, rallying the troops, and then louder, “Come in. Make it snappy.”

Sheppard rolled through the door, loose limbs and wild hair, and it really wasn’t fair, the way the man looked. “Hey, Rodney,” he called, in that drawl that stretched the short O like a base runner sliding into home.

“What?” Rodney replied, head already bent again over his computer.

“Just checking on you,” Sheppard said and strolled – Rodney was looking very intently at his very important work but there was such a thing as peripheral vision and it was hard not to notice – around Rodney to plunk on the end of Rodney’s bed. “Zelenka said you went a little wiggy and asked me to come by, find out what’s up.”

“Wiggy? Wiggy? Who uses the word ‘wiggy’? Zelenka doesn’t, that’s for sure. And with that head of hair, I can’t imagine it floats around in your mind too much.”

“Well, me wearing a wig would definitely be weird.” Sheppard flopped on his back, and it wasn’t _fair_. Rodney firmly affixed his fingers to his keyboard. Sheppard continued, his voice bouncing off the ceiling because he wasn’t looking Rodney’s direction any more, “Zelenka’s worried because you yelled at him.”

Rodney typed some letters that didn’t mean anything, simply to hear the clicks. “I yell at him all the time,” he admitted.

“I did point that out, but he insisted that this was different. Normally you fuss, he said, but this time you were unreasonably angry. So what’s up your ass?”

“I don’t _fuss_ ,” Rodney insisted. “And I could ask you the same question.”

When he turned to face Sheppard, the man was staring at him with a comically surprised expression. For _him_ , that is. On anyone else it probably would have looked like mild interest. “What are you talking about?” Sheppard asked with a jerk of his chin. “I’m not the one being unreasonably angry.”

“No? Then what was that in the cafeteria?”

“In the cafeteria? You mean your joke?’

Rodney’s door slid closed then, and he would have bet two Power Bars and a Toblerone that it was now locked. Of course. Of fucking course.

By struggling mightily he kept his voice even, albeit with a slight clenching of the teeth. “It wasn’t a joke.”

“Then what the hell was it?” Sheppard was up now, standing over Rodney, looming almost, muscles tight, battle-ready. “We don’t _do_ that, Rodney.”

Rodney stood his ground. _Sat_ it, to be precise, but with the righteous fury and the truth oh-so-firmly on his side, it amounted to the exact same thing. “Are you trying to do a Jedi mind trick on me? Because I seem to recall doing that very thing yesterday afternoon for, I don’t know, twenty minutes straight?”

Sheppard never wore exasperation well, and here again he looked merely constipated, but Rodney was too irked to think much about it.

“Yes, in _private_ we do that,” said Sheppard, “but not in the middle of a common room where everyone can gawk at us.”

Crossing his arms, Rodney retorted, “I wasn’t proposing to suck your dick; I just wanted to kiss you. A peck on the lips. Well, maybe some tongue, if the moment was right; tongue is always good.” He waved away that mental image with both hands and then in frustration made a ‘stop’ motion. “But, no, no, a peck on the lips would have been more than satisfactory.”

John threw an irritated glance his way and then started to pace. “But we don’t do that, Rodney; we never have. Why would you want to do it now?”

“Because we can!” God, how did the man not see this? Rodney stood and started following John’s path. “Your country’s inane, repressive, passive-aggressive, fake-ass ‘compromise’ policy has been revoked, and finding Justin Timberlake hot no longer gets you kicked out of the service.”

John stopped short and turned back toward him. “You think Justin Timberlake’s hot? He’s so scrawny.”

“It was an illustration,” Rodney snapped, practically growling with frustration. “The point is, the threat is over, the barriers are gone, so why not let people know?”

“Let people know _what_?” John snapped back, and dear Lord, Rodney was going to kill him, the big fucking idiot.

With his last ounce of patience, Rodney gritted out, “That we’re together, a couple.”

John stepped forward, breaching the edge of Rodney’s personal space. Klaxons sounded ( _damage to the shield – highest alert_ ) as a tingle began to build under his skin from the nearness of John, body and soul, rough fabric hiding powerful muscle, thick touchable hair, slanted jaw. John leaned closer, into the space where Rodney’s held breath should have been.

“They know we’re a team,” John said, slow and easy. “They know if they want to mess with you, they’re going to have to mess with me first. What else do they need to know?”

They should’ve kissed then. Rodney was expecting it, anticipating, his anger transmuted into something different and yet not. Instead John pulled back, still slow and easy, smiling, body still as close but lips in retreat.

Rodney blinked, and breathed finally. “Well, it’s not anything they need to _know_ exactly; it’s just a kind of way to be around each other. Like, like, you know those dinner picnics Keller started arranging on Fridays on the Southwest Pier? When the sun’s going down, and it’s all, you know, orange and glowy and pleasant and everything, it’d be nice to do something like hold your hand.”

The constipated look was back, accompanied by the humorless eye roll Rodney detested. “Christ, McKay, why are you being such a girl? If you wanted to do that” – John’s hand rolled, and it looked familiar but Rodney couldn’t place it – “goopy stuff, why did you break up with Katie?”

“Why did I –?” Being flabbergasted was another way to lose one’s breath, but it didn’t happen this time. “I gave up Katie for _you_ , you big lug!”

“I don’t know what you mean by saying it was for me.” Two steps and John was to the desk, leaning back against it, his butt almost touching Rodney’s keyboard, which was so very much not a metaphor. “I never asked you to.”

Rodney tilted his head in the vain hope that this might provide some new perspective. “Never asked me. Well, yes. You only turned your back every time I mentioned her, and scheduled extra off-world assignments for our team whenever she had more than one day off at a time, and don’t think I didn’t notice that your favorite time for shower sex was about twenty minutes before each of my dates with her.”

“If you were so unhappy –”

“Stop it. I broke up with her because you meant more to me than she did, because I considered you and me to be partners.”

“We _are_ partners, McKay.” The arm that reached out to gesture between them was strong. “You and me, military and science. Teammates. Partners.”

Rodney sighed. “Not that kind of partner. Life partner. That sounds so stupid when I say it, but since you insist on being intentionally slow, I have to spell it out like that.”

“Life partners. What are you –” John dropped the subject and shook his head. “I’m not _gay_ , Rodney.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, bisexual; Kirk loves the ladies, got it.”

“I’m not bisexual either.” John’s fingers curled around the edge of Rodney’s desk and tightened; the tilt-a-whirl of Rodney’s emotions spun around to _scoff_.

“That just leaves straight, which I have to say your current preferred method of achieving orgasm would seem to belie.”

“I’m not gay!” John insisted, knuckles blanching and neck muscles taut and straining. “I’m not going to live a gay man’s life.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Another whirl to the next position: disbelief. Rodney’s hands flailed without his conscious thought. “You don’t have to live ‘a gay man’s life.’ Live your own life, the one you live now, only with me in it.”

“That’s what I’m already doing. You’re being so thick-headed, McKay. Why do you want to change things?”

“Um, being open? And, OK, I admit holding hands at sunset is overkill romance-novel-y, but it’d be damn nice to have you sleep next to me whatever night we want – or, hey, here’s an idea: how about every night?”

John’s eyes closed and a molar dug into his lower lip, his face twisting into his strange equivalent of pained. “Rodney, for Pete’s fucking sake, _why_ are you being such a _girl_ about this?”

“What the _fuck_ is girlish about wanting to share a bed with the person who loves me? Or – or –” He didn’t want to think it, so he _didn’t_ ; he just said it. “Or have I had my head up my ass this whole time, thinking I meant something to you?”

Eyes flying open – still hazel, yes – John said accusingly, “After everything we’ve been through, how can you say that? I saved you from Wraith, and Replicators, and your own stupid noble gestures. I’ve put my life on the line for you, over and over, and I’ll do it the next time without a millisecond of hesitation.” His voice softened, lowered, hushed out a quiet confession: “If the worst happened, and I could only save one person on Atlantis – if I could only save one person in both galaxies – it’d be you.”

Rodney looked down toward the ground and nodded. He knew that, down to his soul; he did. That’s what killed him about all this, what set the tilt-a-wheel into what he feared might be impossibly possible perpetual motion. “But you don’t want to come out,” he said quietly. “You’d give up your life for me, but not your image.”

The sudden slam of Sheppard’s boot into the side of Rodney’s desk rang through the room. Rodney tried to pretend he hadn’t flinched, but it was hard with Sheppard snarling, “You’re a _fucking_ moron and I really want to kick your ass, but instead I’m going to go. When you can stop being such a _cunt_ about this, come find me.”

The door opened; the door closed. Rodney took a shower and went to bed.

When he woke up in the morning, the sting was still there, buzzing crimson.

* * *

For the next week, Rodney lived his life: worked, ate, slept, read, talked, berated his staff, laughed with his friends. Sheppard was the same as always toward him, but John was never around.

* * *

It was after dinner and Rodney was back in his room, laptop open, trying to decide which game he wanted to pull up, when his door chimed. A formal sound, so rarely heard, and he wondered if one of the dingbats who reported to him was going to try to make him listen to some personal problem the way other team leaders sometimes did.

So he might have had an officious sort of scowl on his face when he opened the door, but it soon dropped away, because it wasn’t a dingbat after all.

It was Sheppard, in his black zip pullover and the jeans that generally had to be quarantined for making his ass look so great.

“Um,” was all that Rodney could think to say.

“Can I come in?” Sheppard asked, with a look Rodney wasn’t going to let himself believe was hopeful.

“Colonel, yes, sure,” he replied, stepping back and gesturing Sheppard in with a bow. Which was incredibly dorky, but it was too late, he’d already done it.

Sheppard pretended not to notice, and Rodney pretended not to be grateful. “I’m not here on business,” Sheppard said, “so you can drop the titles.” He leaned back against Rodney’s desk, legs looking longer than usual and head tilted to expose an obscene amount of neck.

Moving purposefully around him, and most definitely not staring, Rodney replied, “Well, why are you here then?”

“I missed you.”

Swallowing hard, Rodney turned around and looked into Sheppard’s face. Sincerity, and something almost wistful, and oh God, he was telling the truth. Rodney didn’t want to forgive him yet, did _not_ want to, but that resolve was eroding around the edges, almost to a full-fledged crumble, when Sheppard said, “I’m sorry I was such an ass the other day.”

He had to keep the shields up a few more minutes. It would’ve been unmanly not to. “Well,” he said, “of course you are. Your assitude at times knows absolutely no bounds.”

John ducked his head, a smile slowly spreading. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Rodney held his chin high. “I will consider different ways in which you could attempt to make us even, but for now, it might be better if we put the matter aside like mature adults.”

That smile was still there, John’s lips twitching. “Sure. I’m not doing anything now, so want to watch a DVD?”

Rodney nodded. “That would be fine. Or we could have sex.”

John looked up, past that crazy, spiky hair, and said, “Yeah? I’d be up for that,” and Rodney let go of his pride.

They touched each other then, and kissed. The sex was slow. Cautious, even – no surprise after what they’d been through – but good. Satisfying.

Rodney was resting peacefully, one arm under his head, when John slipped out of the bed to get a washcloth. Rodney scooted an inch to his right to savor the warmth John had left behind and hold it there for his return.

Warm, eyes closed, almost to sleep, the stick on his skin the only hindrance to drifting off – and he realized abruptly that John hadn’t come back. He sat up, the sheet around his chest falling into his lap, and caught sight of John in the desk chair, fully dressed, lacing up his boots.

“What are you doing?”

“Going home. I have early maneuvers.”

“So we’ll go to sleep early and get up early. No problem.” Rodney was more of a night owl, generally, but an exception could be made.

“Five a.m., Rodney,” John warned firmly.

“OK, so I’ll go back to bed after you leave, but c’mon, just stay.”

“And the night patrol hits this residential section anywhere between three-thirty and five, which means I’d have to get up an extra hour earlier to make sure I miss them. Easier if I just go now.”

”Why do you have to miss them?”

John tugged down each leg of his jeans and then stood. Armor in place, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, ready to go. Rodney felt a weird kind of crumpling in his chest.

“Well,” John said, “it’d be a little difficult to explain what I’m doing wandering the halls at that time.”

“You’re their commander! It’s none of their business, and anyway, you could say you were checking up on _them_.”

John smiled a little slant-lipped grin. “That’s a good one, McKay. No wonder you’re the brightest brain in two galaxies. Bleary-eyed at four in the morning, I never would have thought of that, though.”

Every second Rodney looked at him the crumpling continued, so Rodney flopped back down onto his side and stared at the wall. “Now you’ve thought of it, so you can get me a washcloth, take your clothes back off, and stay.”

The soles of John’s boots were loud against the floor, and it might’ve been that Rodney stopped breathing so he could hear better, hear the soft rip of the zipper and the whoosh of fabric falling off of skin, but the only sounds to hit his ear drums were the tread of the soles, and then John was back.

Rodney felt damp warmth saturate his shoulder. “There’s your washcloth.” Maybe John’s palm pressed into his skull in something like a caress, and maybe it didn’t. Rodney squeezed his eyes closed.

“See you tomorrow, McKay,” and then Rodney was alone.


End file.
